Livin On A Prayer
by babyhilts
Summary: After an accident leaves Dallas unconcious in a hospital bed he must now fight for his life while his subconcious replays his tragic past to him in one dark dream he'd kept hidden until now. Going to be dark. Rated 6 just in case


**Author's Note:** _**Okay, so I found time to start another story and I don't even have time to update the other ones most days. But hey, you know how it is when an idea just comes in your head. You gotta do something about it. So I hope you enjoy this. It's going to be focused mainly on Dallas and his past before Tulsa but there will be a lot of involvement from the present too and stuff. Yeah, I don't want to give away the chapter but read on okay and tell me what you think. If you're confused about anything I'll fill in the blanks. Just a little note, when the story talks about Dallas long ago in New York he's about nine and a half or so, because I think he was ten when he went to Tulsa? Man its been so long I can't remember. But at the beginning of the story he's the same age as in the book, I'll mention when he changes age. Jeez, this is confusing. The flashbacks are when he's nine, I'll indicate it okay? Any who enjoy. Hopefully and as always please review.**_

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_**Chapter 1:**_

Dallas, the tough towheaded greaser, with the cold glares and merciless smile didn't look too intimidating from the floor of the empty lot. Fighting back a moan, he rolled onto his side and struggled to his feet. Raising his head, he looked up to where a sheet of ebony blanketed the sky and silver orbs sprinkled its canvas. He turned his attention to the rundown tavern that lay just before the outskirts of town. Shingles were missing on the roof and windows were cracked and moldy but they sure were good about serving kids under the age. Standing in the tavern parking lot, Dallas looked to his side where a hulking man around his early thirties stood, tall and burly with a handle bar mustache. An oil stained trucker's hat hid his round eyes in a semi circle shadow. It made the man come off just a bit more dangerous than Dallas figured he really was. Dallas was sorry a few minutes later when he found himself back talking a man who stood more than a foot and a half higher than him and weighed about twice his weight. Gravel scratched his left cheek and Dallas was trying to regain his fighting stance that had suddenly faltered when he'd been knuckle punched.

"Glory, you ain't got nothing better than that little slap?"

He wiped a scratched hand across his lower lip, getting rid of the excess drool that had built up. A switchblade was floating around somewhere in his back pocket but he didn't care to reach for it just yet. If he went to grab something now before he was close enough to make a move than the man would know something was up. He had to be quick about it and pick just the right time.

The man's eyes raised at Dallas' remark. He made to move in on the young greaser, stepping forward and then back, doing this for a few minutes until I became too much for old Dal to handle. Dally curved his back, stretched out his hands and began to circle about the bulky man. The toes of his shoes kicked up loose dirt creating a small cloud of beige dust to form about them. Teeth clenched, his fingers began to twitch anxiously at his sides. The man had to get just a bit closer before he could reach for his blade. Just a foot or so and that would be it.

"Come on!" Dallas antagonized. The man grinned.

"You think you can take me kid?"

"Fat bastard like you? Hell, ya? Thing is can you take me?"

Dally could already feel the reassuring handle of his switchblade in the palm of his hand and…

"I'm going to cut you two ribbons you little hood."

The man leapt from his spot and with two quick strides got close enough so that Dallas could taste the whiskey emanating from the man's breath. Reaching back into his jeans, he tugged the blade out, holding it in a fierce grip and flicking the sharp metal out of its shell. He had the blade about an inch from his leg when something hot enveloped his face and he realized the man's nose was just barely touching his right cheek. Sudden pain erupted just below his ribs and it was about that time he felt the cold steel of a blade dug deep inside his flesh. Panting, Dallas tried desperately to take in some much needed air. He sucked in hot breaths that burned the center of his chest and created a chain reaction of agony that went down his back and out his cut. With a quick tug across, the blade tore more into the meat and then was withdrawn from his side.

"Not so tough now, are ya?"

The knife folded back with a resounding shut before the man dropped it in the side of his Swede boots. His collective glare went across Dally's crumpled form that still stood off the gravel, slowly bending forward in pain. A smooth grin spread across the man's swollen lips. Jerking away, he walked back towards the tavern doors. The bright neon sign flashed above the entrance calling out to him and soon he had vanished into the clouds of cigarette smoke that came billowing out of the building.

From the corner of his pale eyes, Dallas searched the lot. Save for a few rusty pickups and a cracked beer bottle off to the side, he was alone. No one watched from the busted windows of the dimly lit tavern, no one looked on to judge him. Relief washed over the leather clad greaser and he let his legs cave in. Knees crunching beneath his weight as they made contact with the rough ground, he leaned back and let his headfall on scattered pebbles. Agony and fire, it leaked from every pore. Sweat ran down the sides of his faces, stinging his helpless eyes that blurred from tears of torture. White knuckles stood out against his lightly tanned hand that was still wound securely around his blade. His grip loosened and the metal glided across his index and middle finger, cutting a light red mark into his skin before it hit the ground.

With the last ounce of his strength, Dallas shifted himself around so that he wasn't lying on very large rocks. Some were quite big and dug into his spine and the side of his back. Another struggle and bit more effort he tilted his head downward and looked to his stomach. Dark thick liquid free flowed onto the light earth, leaking through his white shirt and turning it to a sanguine color. Below pas his waist, a bit of blood has speckled his pant legs and on the center of his cowboy boots it had formed a small red puddle. He grimaced at the stain and looked away in anger.

"Damn!"

His voice came out in a harsh croaking sound rougher than sandpaper. Shutting his eyes, Dallas finally let the swell of pain devour him.

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Minutes dragged on into hours and hours slowly faded into days. Unconscious beneath a series of stiff white sheets and laying atop of two soft pillows was Dallas Winston. White hair stuck to his forehead in sticky beads of sweat. The back of his head sunk deep within the comfort of the pillow and the pale outline of his face could barely be seen. It meshed together with the sterile colors and after almost a day and a half he had already begun to slip away into the scenery. 

The gang waited anxiously outside in the finely cleaned hallway. Shoes squeaked against the linoleum floors and people spoke to one another in soft murmurs, as if doing so would make some difference. A red curl drooped in front of Two-bit's drowsy eyes, that shut every few seconds and would reopen at the slightest sound. Sodapop was already leaning against Darry, asleep while his brothers tried to stay alert. Steve was off at the DX, filling in for Soda's missed shift and Johnny…Johnny sat next to Ponyboy, his eyes wide and fearful. Innocent almost, but they were too dark to be completely innocent. He had seen to many things and captured so many memories with those two eyes to have them look around with true innocence.

Together the group of friends had waited out the hours, hoping and praying for some type of reassurance that Dallas would pull through. So far there had been none. The greaser had been dragged into the hospital close to two in the morning with a stab wound just below his left rib cage. By that time he'd already lost too much blood and now, well he'd been patched up but whether he'd make it out okay or not was completely up to him. If he was as strong as he made himself up to be than he'd live but the gang wasn't so sure if he would. An infection had set in and the doctors were doing their best to get the drugs to fight it off and on top of everything else Dallas hadn't woken up since he'd been brought in. He'd toss and turn, mumbling names that no one had heard and some they did. Curses came out in a light relaxed voice they'd never heard him use.

Johnny fidgeted with the collar of his jeans jacket, before letting his hands fall back to his sides and directing his gaze once again to the whole in his shoe. He couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach about the thought of Dallas lying unconscious in that hospital bed. The life inside him slowly slipped away as they waited for some news, any news at all. There had been none however. Johnny's eyes welled with tears but he kept his hopes high and mustered the strength to hold in the waterworks. He had to be strong for Dallas. How many times had the greaser been there for Johnny? He'd never even had the chance to be there for him.

Anger flared within the dark skinned, dark hared boy as he thought about his unconscious friend. Hadn't he been through enough in his life? Hadn't they all been through enough? Dallas had no life to speak of really. Everyday was just another twenty four hours wasted on hassling some punks or fooling around with some broad or cheating Tim outta his money. No one looked out for Dallas the way he looked out for little Johnny Cade. Maybe that was why Dally was so tough all the time. Had there ever been someone there to look out for Dallas? Too protect him from things the way he tried to protect him? Johnny's mind wandered and the questions began to disappear into a sea of dreams. They pulled at Johnny's consciousness and soon he too found himself asleep.

In the next room, beneath the stiff sheets and sunk into the soft pillow Dallas Winston dreamt. Old memories of the past replayed like a slow playing film, while under lightly shut eyelids, movement, disturbed and restless began. Deep inside himself, within the corners of his mind, Dally sifted through the times he'd spent as a kid, dreaming over again of a life he'd had long ago. A life and a past he sometimes forgot. It was a time where gangs were vicious and he could never escape the torture of everyday life. When he idolized the average street punk and mimicked the JD's down the street. It was the life he'd spent before the move to Tulsa. The growing up he'd done in New York.

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**Author's Note:_ Sorry if that first chapter bored you to death. I think it was mostly dribble. Anywho i got a plan for this story sorta if you want to read it if you don't that's fine i wont update as long as you let me know. BAsically the story is of Dallas going over his life as a young hood growing up in New York just before he moves to Tulsa and why he moved. It's probably going to be pretty dark although this chappie wasnt but i had to set up the story.Anyway, it'll be good even if he's a bit younger. Ill fix it. Also it'll probably switch from his condition in the hospital to his past. So, ya. Tell me what you think. And don't get nasty er i'll have to tackle you. :D_**


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